The Alphabet According to Eames
by slash mania
Summary: 26 letters are in the alphabet- in the Alphabet According to Eames each letter stands for a word- each word represents a story featuring one of his favorite people. Arthur/Eames slash! Rated M for obviously mature situations described in certain letters of this Alphabet (H is for Handcuffs is the most prominent of those) while others are much more tame- cute even!


A.N- Just a random thought I had while looking at a dictionary. Most of these little stories are short, cute, and hopefully funny to people other than myself. I will have rated this M, because in this 26 section story, there are moments that are pretty, mature (like H is for Handcuffs). Others have mentions of mature scenes but are pretty tame- so it's an M fic for the sake of safety and opinions! So, we have 26 stories all from the point of view of Eames, our darling Forger as he tries so hard to associate, love, or just be friendly with his darling Arthur!

The Alphabet According to Eames

Disclaimer- I do not own Inception. Really, honestly, and truly.

_A is for Anticipate_

Eames would always spend inordinate amounts of time watching The Point Man as he was busy working.

He had a system for this- he would carefully look at Arthur and judge his posture and his mood, interpreting just how things may go if he tried to compliment the man on the cut of his suit.

Or how he looked adorable when he smiled.

Or even how Eames would just love to see him sometime outside of work and dreams as he had, well thought about and dreamed it enough while all by himself.

When Arthur looked up at him- decisively looking away from his work and at the Forger who was being just too attentive- it wasn't hard for Eames to anticipate what the young Point Man was going to say and do.

From their history together, Arthur would most likely ask if there was a problem, tell him to bother someone else, or ask him to actually get back to work and stop _staring at him._

"So, Darling," Eames said as Arthur watched him in silence, curious it seemed. "What would you say to going out for a drink after this?"

Eames bit down on the inside of his cheek, a habit he had picked up as a child whenever he said something that he wished he could have taken back- but there was no way that he could have clamped his teeth down on the words to stop their escape, or conversely, wishing that he could swallow them.

Something in Arthur's face softened at the Forger's words, and with a shrug of one shoulder, he returned to his typing.

His answer was punctuated with the clicking sound of the keys as he typed.

"Sure."

It took Eames a full second to register that, for once Arthur had said something that he had not been able to anticipate based on their experience. And also, that he was anticipating what would come next when they finally met for their drink once the day's work was done.

He hadn't been able to stop the smile from growing, starting small and hesitant before becoming a large grin of unexpected pleasure.

* * *

_B is for Brunet_

"You know, I never really had a thing for brunettes," said Eames who was forging a beautiful blonde woman in their current dreamscape.

Arthur unintentionally looked up from the gun he was loading out of habit but not out of need as in dreams you didn't run out of bullets. Eames knew that it comforted Arthur to make certain that there were no loose ends.

He also caught the man's expression as he was messing with his Forged appearance in front of a mirror, fluffing up the hair and pursing his painted lips.

If he wasn't mistaken, Arthur (who is brunet) looked a little bit disappointed at Eames' words. As Arthur dropped his gaze and tried to hide his hurt feelings, or the fact that he had any feelings at all on the subject, Eames turned around and smiled brightly.

"While Forging blondes is great fun- I know at least one brunet that's hot as sin!" Eames winked at Arthur who did something that Eames wouldn't have thought possible in real life.

The Point Man blushed, thus proving that anything could happen in dreams.

* * *

_C is for Capacity_

"I just don't think that you have the capacity for regular human emotions."

Eames had said it in a joking, sarcastic manner.

Maybe Arthur was just feeling oversensitive?

"Really?" Arthur growled, his brown eyes narrowing.

To be honest, Eames was expecting to get slapped- or if Arthur was really going to prove a point about how angry he was, Eames was sure to get punched hard enough to feel it when they both woke from the dream they were sharing.

What he hadn't been expecting was to be pulled into the angriest kiss he had the pleasure of taking part in.

It was all near bruising meetings of ironically soft lips and the sharp sting of teeth when the Point Man bit down on Eames' lower lip.

Like a button had been pressed somewhere in his head from the sensation of teeth and the faint taste of blood, Eames had opened his mouth and moved this kiss from a something relatively tame (or as tame as it could get with all that violence, right?) to something pretty primal.

And when they both pulled away for air; Arthur licking his lips because they happened to have just a bit of red from Eames' bleeding lip, and Eames closing his eyes and sighing in something that had to be close to contentment.

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting for that," Eames said in a slow voice, his eyes heavy and languid.

Arthur smirked and replied, "You haven't seen anything yet, Mr. Eames."

* * *

_D is for Decipher_

Eames liked to run his fingers down Arthur's naked back as they lay in bed, both far too exhausted to do anything else stay but close and breathe.

Arthur was so many things. He was complex. A puzzle that was just begging to be solved.

Eames was certain that it could easily take him forever to decipher the mysteries of Arthur. But that didn't worry him.

He continued to run his fingers down Arthur's back, as if he could discover these secrets by touch alone, reading him like Braille.

* * *

_E is for Elegant_

Eames found that he enjoyed watching Arthur dress in the mornings.

There was always something elegant about it. When he would choose the suit and dissemble it piece by piece, putting on each garment as it should-

The shirt, perfectly pressed and without wrinkles.

Boxers, usually black and definitely silk.

The slacks, the waistcoat, and finally the _tie_.

Eames loved to watch Arthur put on his tie- turning up his collar, looping the boring tie that was just a single color around his neck, and then quickly and efficiently knotting it.

With his hair already slicked back, Arthur was close to complete as he sat down on the edge of the bed to put on socks and then shoes.

Crawling up from his position at the head of the bed, Eames couldn't help but drape himself over the Point Man's shoulders, hanging like a scarf, pressing his lips against the exposed skin of Arthur's neck.

He was met with the smell of Arthur's cologne.

God did he _love_ how Arthur smelled in the morning!

Pulling his lips away and choosing another spot, Eames kissed him once more, his hand running up the front of Arthur's shirt and reaching for the tie.

Playfully, he tugged at it while whispering in the man's ear.

"Now you get to take it all off and start over, darling."

And, depending on Arthur's mood and schedule, he would.

To be honest Arthur loved taking off his beautiful clothing just as much as he loved putting it on, even if he was never going to admit to it.

* * *

_F is for Favorite_

"What's your favorite band?"

Arthur had ignored him.

"What about your favorite movie?"

Eames couldn't get an answer out of the Point Man who was focusing upon lunch much more than was necessary. Eames didn't think that the man's turkey sandwich was going to do anything amazing like a trick.

Several thoughts about other questions came to Eames' mind. Finally, coming up with one that he felt was perfect, Eames smirked in Arthur's direction.

He pointed at the man with a French fry from his own meal and asked in an air of triumph, "Fine then, Arthur! What is your _favorite_ _mistake_?"

It was then that Arthur stopped giving his sandwich the time of day, and instead shot a look over at Eames that was full of frustration.

"My mistake was agreeing to go out with you in the first place!"

Eames smirked at Arthur who still appeared upset that their date the night before hadn't gone as well as they thought it would.

"Unless you live in a Disney movie, first dates aren't supposed to be perfect all the time!" Eames mockingly fluttered his eyelashes at Arthur. "But I'm _so _pleased that you consider me your favorite!"

Arthur couldn't dignify that with an answer- and in Eames' mind that was just as good as agreeing.

* * *

_G is for Gin_

Eames would always remember the time that Arthur gave him a gin flavored kiss.

Once, after a tough Extraction that nearly went to hell, Dom had taken everyone out for a drink.

Eames and Arthur had stayed behind for multiple.

Eames kept pace with the Point Man drink for drink. And it was funny when Eames noticed that Arthur's gin and tonic slowly became more gin than tonic, and then finally, became pure shots of gin with nothing to mellow it.

Misery loves company, and apparently Arthur didn't mind how close the Forger was staying as they both became heavily intoxicated.

"It was my fault," Arthur said, trying to mask his slurring while looking into his shot glass. "Tried to do it right- but it blew up in my face. I could have gotten everyone killed."

Eames swallowed down his next shot and looked at Arthur seriously.

"But you didn't. Darling, not all plans work out- it wasn't anything you did wrong so don't be so hard on yourself."

Arthur had stopped looking into his glass and instead watched Eames face, maybe looking for some trick.

After another moment passed, Arthur pushed his glass away to give Eames a sloppy kiss that was the flavor of juniper berries and made Eames feel more than a bit drunk. Or _drunker_.

It made him giddy and he was most forgiving when he had found that Arthur's shot glass had ended up spilling its contents on his pants when it fell from the bar.

It would always make him remember the night that Arthur had blamed himself and gave him a drunken kiss, even if Arthur didn't remember it the next day.

* * *

_H is for Handcuffs_

The fact that Arthur had actually had the handcuffs at the ready should have been an indicator that the Point Man had a use for them in mind.

And Eames couldn't even begin to describe how _hot _it was that _he_ was the reason.

Experimentally, he tried to move from where he was positioned; his wrists were cuffed tightly, but not so tightly as to chafe or draw blood. Eames had been handcuffed to his headboard.

Because of his position on the bed, the pillows were propped up behind his head so he was as comfortable as one could be since Arthur had chosen to chain him to his own bed.

If anything, it was the anticipation that was getting to him. Arthur wasn't even on the bed yet. He was fully clothed, leaning against the wall and having a drink while taking in the sight of his partner that was shirtless with just a few articles of clothing left to dispose of, bound, and waiting while completely under Arthur's control.

And if Eames were to be honest with himself, he was terribly turned on that Arthur wanted to see him like this. He knew that Arthur was very big on control- everything from what he ate, to what he wore, to how he performed in his work and his play.

Eames really _really_ wanted to play!

"Planning on starting anytime soon, darling?" Eames managed to say in a voice that was saturated in want, and if he was forced to wait a second more, hinted that he would be willing to beg.

Arthur chuckled and Eames felt himself tense at the sound. The Point Man found a place for his now empty glass and approached.

As he stood at the head of the bed, Eames was riveted. He licked his lips and Arthur smiled softly at him.

"I just have one final adjustment and then we can start, Eames," Arthur said as he began to unknot his tie and pull it slowly, almost sensually, off of his neck.

Eames was surprised when Arthur leaned forwards over him to begin to wind his tie around his eyes, effectively blindfolding him.

"Perfect," Arthur whispered into the now blindfolded Forger's ear.

"Oh dear God," Eames swore. That made Arthur laugh outright, and by the sound of it, Eames believed that the man was getting undressed while he was unable to _watch_. Damn if he wasn't devious!

"No need to call me that, Eames," Arthur said in amusement. "I just love it when you call me _darling_."

Eames couldn't find anything to say once Arthur had finally climbed into bed with him. It appeared that the time for words was over.

* * *

_I is for Ill_

Arthur rarely got sick. Or if he did, he hid it from everyone. Eames believed that Arthur projected this image of a Point Man that rivaled Super Man-

Arthur found information faster than a speeding bullet. His laptop was more powerful than a locomotive. And if he hadn't been worried about wrinkling his suit, Arthur could surely leap buildings in a single bound!

But, when Eames entered the warehouse, he found that Arthur was huddled up at his desk, bundled up in blankets, slowly typing something on his laptop.

After Eames had spent enough time gawking at the sight, he sauntered over to investigate the situation thoroughly.

"Under the weather, Arthur?"

The Point Man was shivering a little, but as he heard Eames' voice, he forced himself to be still by sheer willpower.

"I'm alright Mr. Eames, just allergies."

And then he screwed up his face and sneezed on his computer screen.

Eames pursed his lips and eyed how pale and tired Arthur looked.

"Right, love. It's just allergies. And I don't suppose you thought to take a day off?"

Arthur, who had been blowing his nose with a handful of tissues, glared at Eames for even suggesting it.

He removed the tissues and tossed them in a nearby wastebasket.

"Can't. We have a deadline. Go away."

Rather than be upset with how short Arthur was being with him, Eames had an idea. He would do exactly as Arthur asked.

When he came back perhaps an hour later, he found that both Dom and Ariadne had arrived and were giving Arthur more distance than usual.

Upon seeing him, both tried to warn him using clever hand signals that there was a problem, but Eames waved them off and walked towards Arthur's desk where there was a new tissue box and a full wastebasket.

If anything, Arthur's trembling had gotten worse, and in addition to sneezing he had developed a cough.

Without a thermometer he wouldn't be able to tell if Arthur really had a fever, but, considering how much worse the Point Man had gotten in just an hour it probably was going to come soon.

When Arthur noticed that Eames was standing in front of his desk again, he looked set to tear him apart verbally, make him leave him alone and let him work in peace- but, when Eames pulled a large container of soup out of a brown paper bag Arthur grew still.

"What's that?" He asked, sounding a little stuffed up. Eames couldn't help but smile at the way the Point Man's voice sounded.

"It's lunch- nice warm chicken soup from the deli down the way. I want you to go sit somewhere far away from your laptop and eat. And then," Eames said placing the soup on the corner farthest away from the Point Man's laptop, he took out some bottles of brightly colored medicines and lined them up in front of the soup. "You can take some of these to help with coughing, sneezing, fever, and the effects of the common cold that you refuse to admit you have."

"I'm not sick," Arthur said in determination, still eyeing the soup with a look of longing that Eames wished would be directed at _him_ instead.

Eames shook his head and carefully placed a hand on the Point Man's arm, aware of how he enjoyed his personal space. But, when he noticed that the man was leaning into that touch, he came to the conclusion that like a sick child, Arthur would be just as comforted by physical contact though he most likely would never admit to it.

"Darling, you're ill. I just want you to feel better, okay?"

Arthur sighed and stood up, hunching like his whole body was sore, and with Eames' help made his way to another spot that was far from the laptop but, closer to where Eames normally placed himself in these warehouse settings. He told himself that it was because the others looked frightened of catching what Arthur had, but it was more so because he wanted to keep an eye on the sick Point Man.

After he had gotten Arthur all set up, he brought him the soup. He gave him the medicines on the condition that if he took them before the soup, he'd get a treat for later.

Arthur had raised an eyebrow at that, but he did as he was asked. He gagged on the pretty colored but still foul medicines and then gestured for the soup that Eames slid over to him along with a nice cup of warm tea.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Arthur asked later after the soup and tea were finished, his voice rough, but not as bad as it had been earlier.

"Because," Eames said handing Arthur the tissue box, "I never want to see you feeling so lousy. And if you hadn't agreed to the soup I was planning on forcing it down your throat with a funnel."

That shocked a laugh out of the Point Man. "I'm glad that you didn't!" He looked down at the remains from his lunch and looked back up at Eames in gratitude.

"Thank you, Eames."

The Forger hummed in response. "You're welcome, darling. So, how about you have this," Eames said, sliding a single serve container of vanilla ice cream with a small plastic spoon attached, "-and then, just lay yourself down on one of the lawn chairs for a rest?"

Arthur had appeared surprised that he was being given ice cream, but at another look from Eames, opened the container and began to eat, Eames knowing that the cold treat would soothe the ache in his throat.

When it came to be time for Arthur to really _rest_ he followed Eames without complaint, looking exhausted and in great need of some shuteye. He arranged himself on the chair, stretched out, and was surprised when Eames took one of the blankets he had been using in the morning and folded it into a decent pillow shape, and used the other to drape over the Point Man's body.

"Have good rest, darling," Eames said softly, when he noticed how quickly the man's eyes had shut. As he turned away, he jumped when he felt a hand grasp his wrist that prevented him from moving away.

Looking back he found Arthur's eyes half closed as he held on to his wrist, not releasing him.

"Yes?" Eames asked, still keeping his voice soft.

"Remind me to kiss you in a week, two tops."

Eames raised his eyebrows in surprise, blushing a little.

"What? But, why darling?"

Arthur smiled very slightly. "Because I'll be damned if I kiss you while I'm contagious, Mr. Eames."

Eames nodded dumbly. "Yes, of course." He said as Arthur released him, "I'll mark my calendar."

Leaving the Point Man be to rest, Eames busied himself by cleaning up the mess from lunch. He felt eyes on his back and turned to find both Ariadne and Dom staring at him.

"What did you expect me to do? I can't flirt him back to good health!"

* * *

_J is for Juggle_

"Arthur!" Eames said as he began to juggle, caught between looking over at Arthur to see if he was watching and keeping his eyes trained on the objects he had decided needed to be flung through the air so said Point Man would pay attention to him.

He had found a new use for the items in the fruit bowl that Ariadne had thought was needed. He had chosen three oranges and began to work at getting Arthur to focus on him instead of something boring like facts and figures.

"Come on, Arthur!" Eames said, succeeding in passing the three oranges from hand to hand, making them sail through the air (impressively, in his opinion), and not dropping them. "Aren't you looking, darling?"

Eames had learned to juggle when he was a boy- as a child he'd do it on the street to make pocket money. When he was older he'd do it to impress others- girls when he was in his teens and boys when he was a young adult.

He wasn't sure why he thought that this, of all things, was going to make Arthur pay more attention to him but it wasn't for lack of trying nearly everything else.

"Arth-", Eames stopped mid-word as Arthur finally stopped what he was doing and looked at him.

His brown eyes widened, and at first, Eames believed that he could see a spark of genuine pleasure.

When he ended up dropping everything, he was glad that he decided to juggle oranges rather than light bulbs.

Maybe he was too focused on staring into Arthur's eyes. Maybe he sent one of the oranges up higher than the height of his shoulder and lost the rhythm?

Either way, he missed the first orange and it landed with a splat on the ground. It was swiftly followed by the other two, and then there was a decent amount of orange juice making the floor nice and sticky.

When he heard laughter, he looked up quickly to find Arthur pressing a hand against his mouth and trying to stifle his amusement. The Point Man was smiling!

Unconcerned, Eames bowed low, just like he used to when he was a boy in the street juggling balls of yarn or whatever he could get his hands on for a little bit of pocket money.

Today, Arthur's laughter- his _smile_ was more than enough.

* * *

_K is for Kiss_

"Happy Valentine's, darling!"

"Go away, Mr. Eames."

Eames wasn't exactly surprised to be treated in such a way by Arthur. Especially on Valentine's. But it couldn't hurt to at least exchange the greeting, right?

"I just wanted to give you a kiss, darling."

Arthur sighed heavily.

"Eames, I'm busy and I believe that I've told you many times that I'm not interested!"

After a second, Eames sighed and placed a very small foil wrapped candy on Arthur's desk, pushing it closer to the Point Man with just two finger tips.

Arthur looked down at it, and found that, yes- Eames had just given him a kiss. A Hersey's Kiss.

The Point Man looked up at Eames quickly, who shrugged and began to walk to his own area of the warehouse.

"You didn't have to take it so literally, darling," Eames called over his shoulder.

Behind his back, Eames knew that the Point Man had gone still. He was probably staring at the candy.

Eames smiled to himself when he heard the man's chair get pulled out, heard the footsteps, and then the rustling noise of a certain Point Man digging into the store of Valentine's candy that had been left out in honor of the holiday.

Eames was tapped on the shoulder and, in a show of surprise turned to see that Arthur was standing in front of him, holding a Kiss on the palm of his hand, extending it out in offering. He refused to make direct eye contact with the Forger.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Eames smiled brightly and plucked up the little candy. "Thank you, darling! Now I can say in all honesty that you have given me a kiss in apology!"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "This is going to get very very old by the time the day is done."

When Eames noticed that crumbled up in Arthur's hand was a Kiss wrapper, most likely from the one that he had just given the man, he couldn't help but keep making the silly jokes.

"It's wonderful that on Valentine's day we both stopped flirting with each other and exchanged kisses like consenting adults. I could cry."

Arthur blinked and looked over at the bowl of candy. "Did you see who set that up, Eames?" Arthur asked with a devilish smirk.

Eames was popping the candy piece into his mouth, loving how the sweet chocolate was melting on his tongue.

He shook his head. "Maybe Ariadne?"

Then a thought occurred to him as he finished his piece of candy. If Ariadne was the one that got the candy, he had in effect shared a 'kiss' with her, who more than likely shared a 'kiss or a dozen' with Dom. Ariadne was connected to Dom, Eames, and now Arthur- if they read into this exchanging kisses thing too far, they'd be having one heck of an office romance.

Maybe his deduction was showing on his face as Arthur's smile grew wider.

"Remember Eames, you're not to take these things so literally."

When Eames grabbed the Point Man and stopped using the Hersey Kiss as a stand in for what he really wanted to do, he was happy to confirm that Arthur tasted better than chocolate.

* * *

_L is for Laughter_

Eames could remember the first time he heard Arthur's laughter. It had been when they first met for a job, way back when Mal was alive and still sane.

That woman knew how to make Arthur stop pretending he had no emotions outside of annoyance, anger, or mild pleasure at a job well done.

Eames fell in love with Arthur's laughter before he fell in love with the man himself, and after Mal died, it appeared to be the end of Arthur bothering to laugh, even the polite 'I'm going to fake laughing because I don't want to offend you' sort.

The Point Man became a regular stone face and in the times he met Arthur afterwards, Eames made it his mission to get that man to not only _smile_ but to laugh at his jokes or preferably laugh _with_ him.

After telling him all sorts of jokes- actually finding the best jokes that weren't just funny but made you think, Eames got Arthur to laugh again with something that was just silly.

"Here's another one for you, darling!" Eames had cleared his throat and began in a serious tone, completely aware that the Point Man was trying to ignore him. "A man walks into a bar and says '_ouch'_."

There was a long moment of silence when suddenly, Eames heard the impossible.

Arthur snorted in amusement at one of the stupidest jokes he had ever bothered to tell.

Of course, the man tried to hide it but soon, Eames went above and beyond to tell the man every tasteless bad joke he knew, hoping against all hope that this man would soon learn to laugh again.

It was Eames hope that in the future Arthur would want to laugh _with_ him.

* * *

_M is for Magic_

It should have been illegal for Arthur to be able to give massages. Like really illegal- not because he wasn't good at it!

Arthur was _too_ good at it, but it only stood to reason that if Arthur set about learning any sort of skill he would practice it to perfection.

And one day, when Eames had complained of a sore neck and stiff shoulders, Arthur had volunteered to help.

The Forger had at first believed that Arthur was going to give him a pill. Something to numb the pains so he could sleep his hurt off.

When they were finally alone, Arthur had come to Eames, empty handed and instructed in a very calm voice for him to- he was having some trouble believing it still!

Yes, Eames had to do something silly like check to see if he was actually dreaming when Arthur- his Arthur, stick in the mud, has to say _specificity_, perfect and precise and just so freaking cold- _told him to take off his shirt_.

Would it be rude to check his totem? He felt for it in his pocket and tried to reassure himself that this was reality. And then, he dutifully did as the Point Man asked, not bothering to wipe the wide smile off of his face as he did so.

Arthur had already taken his place behind Eames at that point, so Eames felt that he was free to smile as much as he wanted.

When Arthur's fingers touched his skin, Eames wasn't sure what was going to happen. How good could a massage from a number crunching data collecting Point Man b- and then when Arthur really set to work on the sore muscles of Eames' back, he had almost bitten his tongue to stop the groan of pleasure from being born.

Despite those measures, as Arthur was quickly reducing all of the Forger's tension and aches to nothing, melting his pain like butter on the skillet, it was clear that the man knew _exactly_ what feelings he was evoking.

"It's alright to moan if you want- no one is around to hear and come to conclusions. And, from past experience, I know that it's just heaven to have all the kinks worked out."

Eames couldn't help but blush as Arthur's skilled hands and fingers began to massage away every single ounce of stress, pain, and even resistance as Eames grew languid at the man's touch.

"I've been told that my hands are just magic," Arthur commented after the end of, Eames forced himself to check the time- 30 minutes!

Feeling Arthur's hands leave him, Eames sat up straighter and realized that nothing was hurting anymore. Experimentally, he rolled his shoulders and just felt nothing but comfort and ease.

He probably shouldn't be thinking it, but, what did he have to lose if he asked.

"Would you be willing to do a full-body massage?"

Looking over his shoulder at the Point Man, he half expected him to become nervous, remembering himself and how he normally behaved around the Forger.

And Eames got his second surprise of the day when Arthur didn't.

Instead the man smiled in a way that hinted many things, all of which focused on dimly lit rooms, a lot less clothing, and maybe some massage oil.

The Point Man cocked his head to the side and asked in a mockingly confused voice, "Would you also like a happy ending, Mr. Eames?"

Eames mouth went dry at the thought and everything that could be linked to it. Everything that was offered.

When Eames finally found it in him to nod, Arthur threw his shirt back at him and laughed.

"Then get the shirt back on and come home with me. It's easier to do this on a bed or a table. I have both!" The Point Man informed the Forger with a conspiratorial tone.

Arthur was clearly a magic man.

* * *

_N is for Nibble_

"I swear," Arthur said, just his voice a tad bit breathy as he spoke. "I didn't think that you had anything that even looked like a vampire kink."

Eames, who had been very gently worrying the skin of Arthur's neck with his teeth, stopped briefly to chuckle in amusement.

"Oh, I think a vampire might have tried to suck you dry by now, darling. Though you are truly delectable, I'm being good. I only nibble!"

Arthur rolled his eyes, about to deliver a scathing comment, before Eames decided that it was necessary to drag his tongue across the hicky that was developing on the pale column of the Point Man's throat.

* * *

_O is for Overwork_

When Eames had come in to work early for a change, he had brought along coffee for the Point Man that was sure to have gotten in first and be in dire need of a caffeine fix.

Trying to not make much noise upon entering the warehouse, Eames negotiated the two large coffee cups he carried in each hand and found Arthur to be exactly where he expected him.

The Point Man was sitting at his desk, in front of his laptop, leaning forwards enough that the screen was masking his face from Eames current position.

"Good morning, darling!" Eames said as he approached, ready to place the steaming cup of coffee before Arthur, and secretly hope that the man would look at him with some approval.

Eames had these detailed fantasies- the non-sexual ones in this respect as he had several of the other kind- in which, Arthur would look up at him and smile, a real and genuine smile mind you, and would thank Eames without sounding professional, businesslike, and emotionally unreachable.

For a moment, when Arthur pushed his chair back a bit and he appeared to be grasping the corner of the screen to fold the computer closed, Eames thought that Arthur would do just as he imagined.

And then, he kind of had to stop himself from jumping when Arthur's face was revealed by the laptop's closed screen. The effect produced a physical reaction in Eames that if another person were watching him, it could be assumed that the Forger had been just electrocuted.

While he hadn't come into contact with any electricity, he had been shocked.

Carefully, Eames set down the coffee on the corner of the desk.

"Are- Arthur, are you quite alright?" Eames said, licking his lips nervously. "You look like hell."

That was putting it nicely. Arthur looked like he had gotten no sleep, not even a wink. His body, still in the suit from yesterday looked so stiff and sore from sitting for so long. His hair was a mess from running his fingers through it in frustration, no doubt, and even if he had a moment to gel his now mussed locks back he wouldn't be the picture of straight-laced perfection he always was this early in the morning.

Arthur cleared his throat and began to rub at his eyes, pausing to press the heels of his palms against the closed lids.

"You do have a way with complimenting people Eames." Arthur removed his hands from his eyes and appeared to finally notice the coffee Eames had placed on his desk.

His tired gaze was suddenly ravenous- there was never a moment that Eames wished that he was a Starbucks Venti Americano, but, outside of dreams he couldn't even _try._

Before another word could be said Arthur had grabbed for the cup, removed the little green stopper that prevented spills, and took a deep swallow of the hot beverage.

If Arthur was in any pain or experiencing discomfort from the heat of the coffee, he wasn't showing it. He slowly set the cup back down on the desk but didn't remove his hands from around the cup.

"Try to slow it down a little, love. I don't want you to burn yourself."

Arthur had his eyes closed but still smiled pleasantly.

"If I had my way we would be doing a coffee I.V. You can't have any idea how much I needed this."

The Point Man's eyes blinked open and unerringly focused on Eames. "Thank you."

Eames smiled. While Arthur, if not too annoyed by what Eames had decided to say or do, would remain polite, his thanks for this morning felt different.

It wasn't perfunctory. This was heartfelt, it was honest, and it was something that Eames was going to enjoy playing over and over in his mind for the rest of the day and think of fondly. Arthur should overwork more often!

* * *

_P is for Pet_

"Where do you want this, Eames?" Arthur called from somewhere else in the apartment.

Since starting their relationship, Eames hadn't exactly refused for Arthur to see his place so much as there had been several instances that meant it couldn't occur.

Like, when some anonymous person called the management company to say that there were rats in his apartment complex and that the health department was going to be involved.

Or the time that Eames had _lost_ his keys and couldn't get a locksmith- never mind that he could pick a lock in his sleep (ironic because in his work with the PASIV he had done just that at times to steal information!).

Eames and the troubles he had with his apartment when it came time for Arthur to spend time with him there were commented on and made fun of by Dom and Ariadne. Unfortunately their jokes are too bad to repeat as they concern jokes about Architecture in dreams and the fact that only Eames would have his 'plumbing go out' like clockwork every time Arthur was due to come over.

He really should have known not to use that one twice within the same month- a little prodding from Arthur, some questions, the slight hint that he might not _want_ Arthur to come over- and then Eames broke.

All he had to do was hide the things he didn't want Arthur to see.

Inside the bedroom, he had several things that he was busy shoving into the closet. They were mainly toys and couldn't be viewed badly, he guessed, but he still didn't want to answer many questions.

There wasn't much he could do about the litter box and hoped that Arthur or _Arthur_ didn't have to use the bathroom.

That's right, he thought to himself. I've got a cat named Arthur. Nothing wrong with that. I've had him for years! And never mentioned him while at work, even when I would have to go away for weeks at a time and ended up loaning my spare key to the creepy old lady that lived on my floor so she could make sure that Arthur the cat was fed, watered, and looked after.

Because, even if he rationalized it, saying that Arthur was a perfectly good name, a common one at that, it still didn't make up for the fact that he had given the cat the name of the one coworker he had unrequited feelings for.

And, Arthur the cat was just like Arthur in some respects. His fur was very sleek, black and his paws were white, making him look like he was wearing tuxedo! Not that human Arthur was known strictly for that- mainly Arthur the cat was clean, and had a personality similar to Arthur- neat, curious, and watchful. The one time that there was a mouse problem Arthur the cat had taken care of it efficiently and quickly. He also didn't drop the mice at his feet in expectation of praise- no, Arthur the cat would get rid of the little critters in ways that Eames wasn't certain of, and he didn't want to really devote much thought to them being eaten.

Arthur the cat had brownish-green eyes, enjoyed playing with the large red plushie die that Eames couldn't help buying for him after he had noticed it in a store, and was always up for a belly rub from the Forger.

So far, Eames hadn't decided if they were quite so alike in those respects. He could definitely make human Arthur _purr- and now he had crossed the line!_

He heard footsteps and found Arthur standing in his bedroom door with, of all freaking things, _Arthur._

Eames would have thought that Arthur wouldn't want to touch an animal while wearing one of his suits but he seemed fine with holding the small black and white cat that also had his name.

Arthur the cat was cuddled up against the Point Man's chest and purring loud enough for Eames to hear.

"You didn't tell me that you had a pet, Eames. He's a charming little thing."

Arthur paused to scratch the cat underneath its little chin.

"You also forgot to remove its cat food bowl. Can you explain _why_ you have a cat named 'Arthur'?"

Eames was silent for a very long moment. He had thought that he might be prepared for this. Why couldn't he just spit something out?

"Well, darling, a few years back I saw this cat- he was a stray and a little kitten at the time and I was lonely."

More silence.

"And, when it came time for me to call him something other than 'kitty' I decided to call him 'Arthur'." Eames shrugged helplessly. "Artie for short."

Sighing, Arthur gently placed the cat on the ground. When all four paws hit the ground, Artie did as he always did when in the presence of Eames. The little bugger twined himself around Eames' legs, purring up a storm, begging for a loving pat or to have some attention paid to his cute little triangular ears.

"You named your cat after me- comes off as a little strange, doesn't it?"

Eames nodded heavily.

"And that's why you haven't had me over?"

Eames breathed a sigh of relief as Arthur came close enough to drape himself around his shoulders, doing the equivalent of what _Artie_ was doing. The cat was firmly sitting behind Eames' right leg and doing nothing but being comforting warmth as Arthur embraced him. It took Eames a moment to hug back, a little confused as to what had just happened.

"I understand, Eames. Its difficult and it took me awhile to come to terms with how I felt about you. I _do_ care for you and now that we're in a relationship, we might run into these types of situations."

Eames chuckled in amusement, rubbing his cheek against the skin of Arthur's neck before laying a soft kiss there.

"Tell, me. Does this mean that you've been secretly keeping a pet with my name too? Just being cleverer about hiding it?"

Arthur laughed in response and pulled himself away just far enough to look into Eames' eyes.

"What makes you think I haven't?"

Eames frowned. "You really have a cat named Eames that I haven't met yet?"

In all the times he had visited Arthur's place he had been in awe of how clean and well kept it was. Nothing was out of place…it seemed almost too well maintained even for the Point Man's habits and style.

Arthur's eyes looked so innocent, but even then, the brown eyes glittered with just a touch of mischief.

"No. But I _do_ have a dog in the kennel named Eames."

When Eames stared at Arthur for a few seconds more, he noticed how forced Arthur's air of innocence was, the moment shattered as both men began to laugh.

"You _almost_ had me there!" Eames said between bouts of laughter.

"I already have a mutt by that name, so I'm just fine." Arthur said, kissing the man lightly on the cheek before grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and tugging once to get him to follow out of the bedroom and towards the small kitchen area where Arthur had set up their take-home dinner.

Artie followed on silent paws, ignoring his plushy toy dice to instead wait by his master's side at the dinner table, certain he would get scraps and tidbits if he looked cute enough.

* * *

_Q is for Qualified_

Qualified…Arthur thought that Eames was qualified for the job. Those were his exact words when Eames had been asked to join the team for a specific job many years before inception was even a glimmer in Saito's eye.

Back then, Eames had thought that Arthur was being insulting with such a term like 'qualified'.

He had been drawn to the Point Man immediately despite how easily that little phrase tripped off of his tongue.

"You seem qualified enough for the job, Mr. Eames," Arthur had said.

It had taken a good portion of Eames good nature and charm to stop something other than 'Thanks for the opportunity' from coming out of his mouth.

He had focused very hard on the Point Man's face after that. He would take in his whole appearance with enough dedication that he was more than certain he'd be capable of Forging his appearance in a dream.

Eames also spent a little bit too much time looking at the other man's frowning mouth. Though the thin lips didn't look like it at first, after staring for so long, Eames was certain that the pale pink lips would be soft to the touch. Eames deducted that he wouldn't mind kissing lips like those.

When it happened, Eames hadn't been certain that he was going to come out of it without a mark. Arthur, when wronged, could strike deft and true. His only hope afterwards was that Arthur wouldn't think of shooting him.

They had been leaving their current work place of a small office space, the job finished successfully due to Eames part in the dream- _and Cobb laughed when Eames said that the man they were Extracting information from would tell his Mother _anything_!_

He had done extra research based upon what Arthur had provided, drew his own conclusions, and then put them to good use. Their mark had collapsed like a house of cards as Eames Forged the man's long since dead Mother, the one person he would ever tell such information to, the only one he really trusted which in and of itself was very sad.

Arthur had turned to him and offered a rare smile of appreciation that made Eames pause on his way out the door.

"That was unexpected, Eames. Very good."

Eames, knowing he was referencing the Forging in the dream, shrugged in response.

"You yourself did proclaim me _qualified_. I had to live up to your standards of excellence, right?"

The Point Man frowned at his words or the tone behind them, and as he opened his mouth to reply, Eames did something genuinely stupid and leaned forwards to capture the man's parted lips for a brief kiss that he had been thinking about all freaking week.

And when he pulled himself away he was sure that Arthur was going to shoot him for his behavior.

He couldn't get over his surprise as, instead of glaring poisonously at him and reaching for some kind of weapon hidden on his person, Arthur kept his eyes closed for a moment after the kiss was over.

With his eyes closed, something changed in the Point Man's face- he appeared younger. Eames could say that that might be how the man looked as he slept, but as of yet hadn't woken from the chemical induced sleep of dreamshare before the Point Man did.

In the few seconds more it took for the man's lashes to flutter, his eyes to open, and his gaze to become fixed on the Forger, Eames hadn't yet decided how fast and far to run.

A restraining hand landed on his arm and Eames was so proud when he didn't flinch automatically.

"Mr. Eames, I retract my former statement." The Point Man smirked at the shocked look on the Forger's face. "You are _more than qualified_. You happen to be overqualified, in fact."

Eames couldn't fight it, that emotion of acceptance and praise paired with the feeling of not having been shot for his actions made him feel like there was a small burning sun in his chest- it made him feel bathed in warmth and heat. He felt like he could do anything.

Licking his lips, he tried a pleased smile and met Arthur's gaze.

"What do you think about us going out together sometime, darling? I'd love to get to know you better-"

Eames words swiftly stopped when he felt something hard dig into his stomach.

And, to destroy any other pleasant thoughts, that something was made of metal.

Eyes frozen on Arthur's face, Eames swallowed hard. Arthur's smirk was gone. His face was cold and remote and could make a stranger believe that he didn't have feelings.

Even though Eames knew better, he couldn't help but recall that smirk that looked like it had begun to drop into a smile (he had been so sure it was!)and the look of the man just after Eames had kissed him- he looked what? Pleased? Innocent? Human?

Arthur removed his gun from where he had forced it against Eames.

"No. I would say that we should leave it at this- I, the best Point Man gave you, the best Forger a compliment about the work you have done today. This doesn't lead to me accepting a kiss from you or going out with you. While you are qualified to work alongside me on our team because of your skills I'm not interested in anything more. Because I value you and your work I didn't shoot you."

Arthur slid his gun back into the shoulder holster that he wore underneath his suit jacket, where Eames had no doubt been too distracted staring at the Point Man's _face_ to notice that it had been pulled.

That burning sun in Eames chest was flickering out, guttering. It still left a burning ache in its place though and Eames didn't want to think upon it too hard.

"Next time I might not be so kind, Mr. Eames." Arthur said. His words were clipped and short and made Eames wish that he really hadn't attempted to do anything at all concerning his attraction to the Point Man.

And then, just as Eames was getting ready to lock away those thoughts, leave Arthur as a lost cause, and count himself grateful to have all of his body parts and no bullets lodged in his stomach when he noticed how so briefly, Arthur touched two fingers to his own lips.

It was almost a thoughtless motion- a motion that we make because its automatic. Running a hand through your hair when the wind blows to put the strands back in place. Scratching an itch. Blowing on something hot before eating or drinking from it.

In Eames experience such a motion was telling. He had practiced the movements and tics of others and noticed that this one wasn't usual for Arthur. After a second, the Point Man's hand fell to his side and he walked through the door without another word to Eames.

For a moment, Eames stood by himself and had to wipe the smile off of his face at his deduction.

That little action, that little tell! Gently touching the lips after a kiss, could indicate a few things. Hurt- if it was a rough and unexpected kiss. Pleasure- if it was an especially good kiss. And, finally Remembrance- if it was special and singular and _meant something_.

Eames was of the opinion that despite Arthur's threats and words, he didn't feel bad about that kiss or the Forger's offer. In _his_ opinion, the Point Man wasn't ready to express or join in such expressions of feelings.

But Eames was willing to wait. When he wanted something, Eames was willing to be patient and kind and stick around till it was time for all the pieces to fall together.

As he turned off the lights and locked up the little office space they were leaving behind, Eames felt hope flare anew in his chest, the burning sun feeling rising up in him at the thought of making Arthur realize that they were perfect for one another. No matter how long it took.

That, and he was certain that Arthur suppressed his flush of pleasure at being called 'darling'!

Rather than being caught up in today's rejection, Eames was already thinking about the good things the future could bring him as he chased Arthur, and how one day, Arthur would finally stop running away from him.

After all, tomorrow is another day.

* * *

_R is for Raspberry_

Though Arthur tried to hide it, the man loved sweet things.

Pastries, cookies, cakes, and candies were a sure way into the Point Man's affections. Despite his sweet tooth, the man was wiry and thin without an ounce of fat on him, so it was either a strident exercise routine or a lightning fast metabolism that kept Arthur neat and trim.

Eames had found that, while the man believed him to be annoying with his constant flirting and teasing, he wasn't _too_ bothered by him if he brought some little tidbit over as a peace offering.

As they began to work together more often, it became a regular occurrence for Eames to make the early morning run for coffee and give the Point Man something like a cinnamon bun along with his espresso. The others began to notice this preferential treatment and rather than make a big deal about _why_ he was doing so offered him suggestions as to what Arthur would like better.

It was surprising to Eames that the man refused to give a preference to what he liked- everything was 'okay' and with each sweet offering Eames learned little about what the man truly liked or was happy with.

After Ariadne's suggestion of him giving Arthur something homemade- like the _snickerdoodles_ Eames had painstakingly practiced till they were perfect and then shared with the entire team, even though he gave the biggest cookie to Arthur- he had found out what the man's favorite thing was.

It had been such a simple idea that at first, Eames wasn't sure how he hadn't thought of it himself. But, apparently, Dom had noticed once that Arthur had a thing for fresh raspberries.

He loved them on cereal, as jam for his toast, and just as a treat to pop into his mouth while he worked.

One day, along with the coffee Eames presented Arthur with his very own plate of dark chocolate covered raspberries.

The Point Man's expression was darling- honest pleasure at the little offering and for once, a smile of thanks!

"How did you _know_?" Arthur said, probably unaware that he was smiling wide enough to display his dimples. People still argued with Eames as to the existence of the Point Man's dimples, and yet, the Forger had spotted those _three times now!_ For some reason, the fact that it was so rare to see the dimples made this moment even more memorable and special to Eames.

"Oh, I don't know darling. I just thought that you'd like something that was both fresh and sweet covered in something addictive. Then I realized that drizzling melted chocolate on myself was a bit much…"

For once, Arthur was too distracted from Eames and his ribald comment to call him on it.

He plucked up a single berry, the chocolate melting from the warmth of the Point Man's fingers. Eames watched Arthur's blissful expression as he let the berry sit on his tongue, closed his mouth and closed his eyes as he enjoyed.

All Eames could focus on was that the Point Man had sticky chocolate on his fingertips.

Arthur's eyes opened again slowly and looked up at Eames with a feeling that he found difficult to label- he wished that it hadn't been brought on by something as simple as a piece of fruit covered in chocolate, but either way the man was pleased that _Arthur_ was pleased!

"You've- um- missed a little bit, love." Eames said, wiggling his fingers as an example with raised eyebrows.

When Arthur noticed what he was talking about, the Point Man said in a low voice, "Did you want to help me with that?"

Before Eames could jump at the uncharacteristic request, there was a clearing of the throat from Dom that made Eames pause with his hand on Arthur's wrist.

"Eames," Dom began patiently. "I should have never given you the idea. But if you both are going to finally stop dancing around each other, take a break and stop corrupting Ariadne."

Interested in how corrupted the college age woman was, Eames chanced a look over at the young Architect. She looked as far from corrupted as humanly possible. She was watching their interaction with lots and lots of interest and that was probably what made Dom call a stop to things before they went further.

And if what Arthur muttered to himself when the subject of Dom and Ariadne came around was true, Dom may just be worried that the young Architect might have a few _suggestions_ to spice up their personal relationship outside of work.

Honoring Dom's request, Eames took firm hold of Arthur's wrist and pulled him up onto his feet. Eames couldn't explain his emotions as he led the Point Man out of the main work area of their warehouse. It couldn't be described. It felt too big, too multilayered, and expansive to give true explanations for.

Eames had loved and wanted and worried over Arthur for such a long time, and now, it appeared that their relationship was going to begin.

Right now, this one occurrence had all the significance of a comet that was illuminating everything as it streaked past.

Eames could feel it flare as, Arthur for his first act upon clearing the door, shoved him against a wall to join his mouth to his.

The Forger had never really cared for raspberries, but now, he would always cherish the flavor of a kiss that was a little tart, subtly sweet, with all the richness of the chocolate he had used to coat the berries with this morning.

* * *

_S is for Sane_

Arthur was getting out his clothes, stripping them without the care Eames had always attributed to him during his many and varied fantasies- in his sexual fantasies that he would enjoy late at night, in and out of dreams, Arthur always came to him fully clothed because getting him undressed was half the fun.

But when it was the real living and breathing Arthur that had followed him up to his hotel room after a few friendly drinks, dreams and fantasies couldn't compare.

The bespoke suit was stripped off, its pieces fluttering to the ground as Arthur grew too eager to fold or drape his expensive clothing on the nearby chair.

"I'm not sane," Arthur said breathlessly as he finally worked his shirt off, and his slacks, pausing to get rid of silly things like socks and underwear before shooting Eames a desperate look.

"How drunk am I?"

Eames, who had been forced to sit on the corner of his hotel bed to watch Arthur work himself up into the frenzy of getting naked as soon as possible, was only mildly buzzed.

It was giving him that comforting feeling of warmth and suggested to him that everything that was happening to him was right and going his way.

He had to stop himself from checking his totem because he was afraid that might offend Arthur who had to be led to this point after years of coming so close, then shooting far off and away from one another, before finally reaching this point at the same time and wanting each other at the same moment.

The alcohol helped a little but what was occurring was like a foregone conclusion.

But the last thing Eames wanted was to offend the possible projection of Arthur, or the real Arthur by checking to see if this was really happening.

Maybe if Arthur knew that this was really happening he would scare himself away, put all of his clothes on, and then hide in his hotel room until the alcohol stopped giving him false courage.

"You're not drunk, darling," Eames purred, opening his arms up and inviting the other man in.

It took Arthur a second, just a second more to fall against Eames who was still partially clothed- ugly shirt unbuttoned halfway and revealing his chest, pants on, but shoes having been kicked off in the name of comfort as he had sat down to watch Arthur get undressed.

"It's after midnight," Eames said as let his fingers slip down the lines and planes of the Point Man's back, tracing the length of his spine to follow it upwards again. "I've wanted you for too long, love. If it's madness that's got you worried, darling don't be too upset. I've been mad for you for years."

Arthur pulled his face away from its place at the side of Eames' neck to look into his eyes for something vital, something important.

"And there's always some madness in love," the Point Man quoted.

"But there is also always some reason in madness." Eames said, finishing the quote for the Point Man. "You are definitely reason enough for both madness and love in great amounts. So how about we stop running away from one another and just be crazy for a bit?"

They were silent for a bit, neither checking their totems, because they didn't care if this was dream or reality, just that this was their culmination of every single event in their shared history.

And for them, it was comforting that it should end in love rather than madness because being sane was hard enough in their line of work.

* * *

_T is for Tease_

Eames liked to tease Arthur.

One could call it his pastime while working with the man on various jobs.

'Specificity' had been a favorite. Only Arthur could use a word like that and be so offended when Eames mocked him for it.

If it wasn't what the Point Man would say it was how he _looked._ Privately, Eames would admit that Arthur had to be the most scrumptious looking guy in a suit that cost more than the Forger made in…was the estimate six months or a year?

Eames couldn't help but poke and prod the young man who was so straitlaced, formal, business minded, and seemed to pretend that there was no such thing as fun.

He thought that he may have taken it a step too far when, during the holiday season, he suggested that Arthur play the Grinch.

The Forger didn't imply anything truly _mean_ by it! All it was referencing was Arthur's lack of happiness that it was the Christmas season. Eames was of the firm opinion that you didn't have to be religious to like the holiday because there was something nice about the themes of generosity, good will, and over all pleasure in being with friends and family during the giving of gifts.

When Eames made his statement of 'Arthur, why aren't you prepared to steal Christmas from the Who's of Whoville? You've not got a lot of time to get good old Max dressed like a reindeer!'

He had expected maybe an exaggerated roll of the eyes because of the holiday themed teasing. Arthur had ignored him in the past but hadn't today.

Today, on Christmas Eve, Arthur had glared up at Eames with such black hearted vehemence that it was a wonder that the Forger hadn't had something terrible happen like getting struck by lightning or falling dead on the spot.

When Arthur rose up from his desk, abandoning his work and leaving his laptop open, he stomped up to Eames who was driven back a step or two from how close Arthur had forced himself up against the Forger, getting right up into his face with eyes narrowed and some unspeakably powerful emotion riding him.

"You can go to hell for all I care this holiday season, Eames!"

Blinking slowly in shock, Eames could barely get his questioning 'Darling?' out, before Arthur stormed away and slammed the door of their rickety work space that was more of a shack than a warehouse or office setting. The reverberations from the slammed door made the glass of the windows shake in their panes and filled the silence left behind when Arthur left.

It didn't last long as Dom quickly got on Eames case, dragging him to the side to have a not so private argument. Ariadne divided her attention between casting her gaze over to them in worry and looking towards the door as if expecting Arthur to come back in spoiling for a fight.

"You have truly stepped in it, Eames." Dom hissed.

"It was just a joke! You lot know how I tease Arthur! Why does it matter if I tease him a little during the holidays? Does he hate the Grinch, being compared to him, or Christmas all together?"

Dom sighed, clearly frustrated with Eames' words. "I don't expect you to get it- you don't know anything about Arthur except what he tells you and why would he tell you anything else if he thinks you're going to tease and mock him for it?"

Eames who was upset himself over the situation, unable to forget the way the man _looked at him_ after he had opened his big mouth about the Grinch, couldn't help but get a bit annoyed with Dom's words.

"Really? Fine, what could be so horrible that _I'd_ mock him for it during the holiday season?!"

Dom seemed to be taking glaring lessons from Arthur. He offered a pretty good one that was close to making Eames flinch- he really did flinch when Dom delivered the news of, "His parents died during Christmas, Eames. I hope you're happy with yourself."

Finding Arthur had been difficult. Outside it was snowing and evidence of the Christmas season was _everywhere_. If Arthur was so hurt by the season, how far could the man get when there were wreaths on doors, Christmas trees fully decorated with lights peeping out from the windows of homes, completed snowmen and the evidence of the dedicated children's efforts at snow angels that were still visible for the most part. Since Arthur hadn't grabbed his coat he didn't think that the man was far.

It surprised him to find Arthur sitting in the local park, on a bench, shivering to himself, not even five feet away from the ornamental Christmas Tree the town assembled every year no doubt.

It was the flashing lights of the tree that made Eames notice Arthur huddling in on himself on the bench, a collection of snowflakes decorating the shoulders of his suit and falling down his back like a bizarre mantle. After a minute of watching him sit, Eames came closer a little nervous of what to expect.

When Arthur noticed him standing there in his heavy winter coat, wearing a hat, and holding Arthur's coat in his arms like an offering the Point Man turned his head to the side to ignore him.

As Eames sighed in frustration, his breath visible from of the cold, he took a chance and sat down next to the Point Man on the bench.

Without another thought, Eames took Arthur's coat and draped it across the man's shoulders, feeling the heat bleeding from the man's body even with such little contact. "You don't need to turn into an icicle just because you're upset, darling. I'm sorry for what I said- I didn't know that this season didn't have happy memories for you."

Arthur sniffled to himself and leaned closer to Eames as the man wrapped his arm around the other man's shoulders to share his warmth.

"It's not that there aren't any happy memories, Eames. The people I loved and shared those times with are gone," Arthur half-laughed to himself. "It's been years but I just get so depressed when December comes."

Eames hummed in agreement. "Dom told me what happened. Did you want to talk about it?"

Eames already knew the details from Dom- a car accident caused by nothing but bad luck driving in the snow at night, getting into an accident with another driver that had been less virtuous at some other Christmas party.

"I became an orphan during the happiest time of the year," Arthur said to Eames, seeming to take comfort from his closeness. "It's all so cliché but it doesn't make it hurt any less."

"I," Eames began, before forcing himself to shut up. What could he even begin to say that would make Arthur feel better? For all of his ability to be charming, Eames wasn't sure how to approach this situation. He was terribly afraid of unintentionally hurting Arthur again. "I'm terrible at this," Eames confessed, not sure how to feel in these moments.

It was so cold, but between the gently falling snow, and the pretty lights of the tree, Eames hoped that his presence was at least easing some of Arthur's hurt.

"You don't have to have Christmas alone, darling," Eames was saying, wondering how in the hell he had thought saying this was a good idea, "Dom, Ariadne, Yusuf, and, well _me_- we could do something fun for Christmas and give you some new memories so the old ones won't hurt as much."

Eames hoped that Arthur understood that he didn't want to have Arthur forget those times, just that he wanted to share something with him that could be a good experience during this holiday season and open him up to more happiness than sadness.

"And, and- if Dom wanted to bring the kids out for a Christmas party, or even if we all met at his home! Yes, that could be great! Phillipa and James need more happy Christmases too and you know how amped up kids can get about things like Santa and presents…"

Eames' ramble had come to a embarrassed end. He struggled not to cough to clear his throat.

"I'm sorry, Arthur, just got carried away there for a second. Nothings set in stone, we don't have to do anything if you don't want to!"

"We?" Arthur said after a moment, and through his own embarrassment, Eames could detect a sliver of hope in the Point Man's voice.

Eames swallowed and tried to formulate the words that were so difficult to grasp onto and hold, squeeze into sentences, and then breathe the life into them by speaking. He always told himself that as long as he didn't _speak_ about it, the ultimate refusal could never come. That he could sit and think and hope and wish that Arthur had a caring feeling for him and wasn't just annoyed or offended by him.

Because, as everyone knew, a bully (which Eames definitely wasn't) would most often make fun of a person because they _liked _them. And after a few years Eames had sailed past like and into love all in silence that was peppered with the occasional joke about the Point Man's clothes, or choice of words, or his actions that if they were translated by a dedicated third party meant 'I'm attracted to you, I notice you so please please please _notice me_!'

"Yes," Eames said, feeling a little brave when he noticed that Arthur hadn't pulled away from him. "You'd be there, and _I_ could be there, and if the whole group is invited, we could have a splendid party during Christmas. And if you like, I won't allow The Grinch Who Stole Christmas to be played on the telly or spoken about."

Arthur sighed to himself. "The Grinch was a sore spot, and I'm sorry I yelled at you about it. It's just- my dad always made fun of me, called me the Grinch when I was little because I didn't have any Christmas spirit- said that someone _that_ skeptical about Christmas had to have a heart that was three sizes too small." Even though the words were kind of mean in Eames opinion, Arthur had smiled a little at the memory. "My mother would always swoop in and tell him that he'd get nothing but coal because he got it backwards. That I had a heart that was three sizes too big because I _wanted_ to believe in things that are magic, but couldn't find out _how_ it could happen. That it took someone with a lot of heart to try and find out the truth of things when they were so young…"

Eames smiled to himself at the thought, thinking to himself of Arthur as a child, thinking and working and trying to figure out all the details of this Saint Nicholas character and coming to the logical conclusion that the man wasn't real at too young an age when believing in the magic and the mystical was okay.

They were both quiet for a time, say nothing though it was growing colder, and, as if the lights were on a timer, the Christmas tree went dark without the moon or the stars that were veiled by the thick clouds to shine over it. Arthur struggled to get up, and as Eames rose with him, the Point Man led him to the shadow of the tree where they stood for a moment before Arthur said anything.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Arthur said in a serious voice made a little hoarse from the cold of the evening.

Eames nodded shortly and glanced up quickly at the large tree that partially sheltered them from view.

"I've wanted to do this for such a long time, but now, I've got the perfect reason since its Christmas." Arthur pointed at the tree and now, Eames could see that some little fool at used a ladder and climbed up to the bough that was directly over their heads and attached a ribbon bedecked handful of mistletoe. Eames stared at it with wide eyes before looking back at Arthur who was much closer than Eames had realized.

"How did you know this was here?" Eames forced himself to ask, seeing how it had been so far away from the position of the bench, and even _Arthur's_ eyesight couldn't be that perfect!

"When I first walked to the park I grew sentimental and wanted to admire the tree up close- then I noticed the mistletoe. When I went to sit down at my bench to think, I wondered who had thought to string mistletoe right there since it's normally found hanging in doorways to catch unwary couples in the name of tradition."

Eames chuckled to himself. "Perhaps somebody wanted to create a new tradition this year, and I wonder exactly how many couples have been caught under it?"

Arthur hummed and pulled the Forger into his arms. "I'll make it a tradition," he said, "to kiss you under the mistletoe whether its stuck in a doorway or on a Christmas tree."

Eames' eyes widened at the thought and he couldn't help how his smile grew wide and happy. "But, love? What's the secret you wanted to tell me?"

Arthur shook his head and rolled his eyes briefly. "I could have sworn I said that already, but I don't mind refreshing your memory Mr. Eames. I've wanted to kiss you for several Christmases, New Years, and even that damned time on Saint Patrick's Day you showed up with a 'Kiss Me, I'm Irish' button, despite not even being _Irish_. And, the kissing is only part of it and it's not all confined to holidays. The other part has a lot to do with things like attraction and love and-mmph!"

Eames chose to end the Point Man's speech by kissing him right then and there, slow and gentle like the snow falling around them but so much _warmer_. It wasn't like other Mistletoe incited kisses he had taken part in over the years- Arthur wanted to kiss him, took pleasure in it, and also, didn't happen to be drunk.

Maybe it was the cold and the wonderful feeling of reciprocation, but Eames felt a bit drunk himself, high off of life because this would be the best Christmas he ever had.

Ending the kiss to lay several others across the now laughing Point Man's face, he stopped in order to spin them in a dizzy circle just for the hell of it.

"Come on, love!" Eames said in an excited voice. "I want to get you somewhere warm! I want to give you hot chocolate and coffee and sit in front of a fire with you! Tomorrow we could beg off work and make snowmen! Right now, I want to give you the best Christmas Eve and tomorrow I want to give you the best Christmas Day!"

Arthur, who was still gasping from his laughter, from the kissing, and from the overall excitement of the Forger, clung to Eames like he was in danger of falling.

"Eames," he said plaintively, "Eames, come on, stop the spinning! We can do all of it!"

The Forger stopped twirling the Point Man in circles with him and instead hugged him tightly. "Its like my Christmas present came early," he said, out of breath, lips red from the cold and cheeks flushed. "We can have a party if you're open to it, love? Dom has been mentioning it and since the job is done we might actually go to the man's place and have a real Christmas!"

Arthur didn't have to say whether or not he was game for it. He was ready now to have a good Christmas, not to forget the Christmases of the past he had with his family, and not focus on the lonely ones spent by himself. And he was willing to do so because he had Eames firmly at his side, not teasing or mocking, but _supporting_.

"Come on, Eames!" Arthur said quickly. "Its cold as hell out here and all the shops will be closed by now. If we go to the hotel we can warm up a little and pack later."

At 'pack later', Eames interest was caught and held. "Are you going to give me an early gift, darling?"

The Point Man smirked. "I'm cold, need to change into something that hasn't been covered in snow, and am perfectly eager to share a bed with a Forger who is like a walking heater. You don't get your Christmas gift until tomorrow."

Eames smiled brightly at those words. "Darling, I've already got my gift!"

* * *

_U is for Undeniable_

Awkward was one way to put it.

So what if they had _finally_ spent the night together? It was ironic that despite the feelings that were revealed, reciprocated, and then demonstrated in Arthur's hotel room everything was still so new and untried.

Just because they had both stopped being so…_them_. Eames seriously expressed his desire for Arthur while Arthur stopped being so freaking obstinate. It was like starting with a partially cleaned slate, their past experiences together only more greatly accentuated by the events of the night before when they had stopped pretending it was just the alcohol talking and this morning when they woke to find how comfortably they lay together; fitting like puzzle pieces or laying like two spoons in a drawer. And, of course, neither was bothered by the prospects of a shared shower.

Somehow, after all of those experiences of the morning, some trivial and others of great importance and meaning, it was _breakfast_ that had become the awkward part.

Breakfast was one of Eames' simple pleasures in life. There was something great about the first meal of the day, the breaking of the fast with something light like granola and yogurt or something heartier like steak and eggs.

To Eames there wasn't anything more comforting than his breakfast tea, the occasional coffee, or some freshly squeezed orange juice to go along with whatever he chose to eat.

If he happened to be eating out he most often chose the sweet treats like pancakes, French toast, waffles, or occasional crepes. If he had a kitchen to himself he didn't mind cooking at all.

Arthur, who had shielded himself with the large plastic menu normally didn't vary in what he had for the rare breakfast in each other's presence.

Rather than get his two eggs over easy, bacon, whole wheat toast, and healthy fruit on the side rather than potatoes, today Arthur spoke from behind his menu when the waitress appeared with their drink orders (coffee and water for Arthur and orange juice for Eames).

"I'd like the pancakes topped with strawberries, please."

Eames raised his eyebrow at the out of character order. The waitress didn't seem to care either way, looking tired or bored or both. She dutifully scribbled down Arthur's request.

"Did you want whipped cream on top?"

Now, this Eames was sure would get a big 'no'. Arthur seemed to hate extras or indulgences. And yet, Arthur folded up his menu and presented it to the waitress with a friendly smile, saying "Yes, please."

She didn't smile back- just made her notes and turned her attention to Eames.

"And you?"

"How about the same thing my friend here has just ordered, love?"

When Arthur gave the Forger a look, Eames shrugged helplessly before looking up at the waitress.

"I have never been able to deny something sweet that was covered in strawberries and whipped cream, whether it was served on a plate or happened to be in my bed."

Arthur's face flushed at the comment and the waitress appeared to not care about Eames and his opinion despite how it sounded. For all Eames knew, diners regularly spoke about how they would like their breakfasts in relation to how they liked to play in bed- but even Eames had to admit that it probably wasn't very likely.

And when the waitress left, Arthur began to glare at him with enough strength to make Eames smile in response. It wasn't a normal reaction- Eames didn't smile at every living person who glared at him. Just Arthur. And he was only smiling at Arthur right now because he knew what was hidden behind that glare, and what it _really_ meant, and he even felt this shadow of nostalgia for all the times he had misinterpreted the Point Man's expression and failed to dig deeper.

This glare was one of embarrassment.

Before Arthur could get a word out, Eames raised a hand as if begging for an extra moment. The Forger carefully took away Arthur's steaming mug of coffee and took a sip.

He made a face and put it back, doing the same to the man's water glass.

Arthur's glare of embarrassment had faded. It was replaced by confusion.

"What in the hell is your problem?" The Point Man said in a soft voice so they would not be immediately overheard by the few diners also waiting for their meals.

"I just had to see if they had put something into your drink to make you want something like _pancakes with strawberries and whipped cream_ for breakfast."

Eames shrugged. "I wanted to make certain that it wasn't some ungodly form of mind control because of the coffee- and I don't care what you say Arthur, that stuff tastes god awful!"

Arthur's mouth was ever so slightly pinched by a disapproving frown, his motions decisive and quick as he placed his flatware on the table next to his restored mug and glass of water and folded his napkin across his lap.

"And this somehow _means_ something, Eames? I don't eat the same things all the time."

Eames scoffed a little. "Darling, now that's not true." He pointed to himself, nodding. "You see, _I _know all there is to know about you- I assure you, my knowledge of your likes, dislikes, habits, and tics is endearing."

Arthur smirked over the rim of his coffee mug, taking a sip before saying, "I'd call it stalking which isn't exactly an endearing quality, Eames."

But, even as he said that, Arthur smiled at him as if to prove that it wasn't said to hurt the other man.

"But seriously Arthur, you really don't usually get anything that's so overloaded with sugar for your breakfast! I'm curious as to why."

In response to this, Arthur shrugged. "It's a nice day and every once in a while I like to treat myself. Last I heard it wasn't against the law."

Eames began to smile in earnest at those words. Just the implication, that on this particular morning the Point Man had chosen to reward himself with a breakfast he normally didn't indulge in.

The events of the night before had begun with a slightly tipsy Arthur leaning against a pretty crocked Eames to speak of how undeniable certain facts about their relationship were.

'It doesn't matter how far away I try to move from you, it's like- like we're magnetized.' Arthur had said, ironically choosing to press himself up against Eames side while they sat in a booth to enjoy their drinks.

'No matter what I do, you keep following me- pressing and pushing and teasing. You never leave. And, I'm tired of saying that I _don't_ like it, because it's not true.'

Arthur had looked up at him with his brown eyes just a little bit glazed or unfocused, the alcohol definitely taking an effect. For one thing, the man's gaze wasn't so penetrating, his eyes were warm, and the overall look was something soft. Or, at that point of the night, Eames had had too much to drink to give that look a proper name. In his memory it was honest and uninhibited and _perfect_.

'I don't mean to be a bother,' Eames replied. 'I know that I get you all frustrated or murderous sometimes, but I get scared.'

Arthur had gathered enough focus at the word _scared_ to straighten up a little and regard Eames with a questioning look.

'Scared?' the Point Man had said. 'But why would you be scared?'

'Because,' Eames replied, looking more at his half empty glass than Arthur, 'because it's hard to say that you care and for people to think that you're not being honest about it. Even harder if you love them and they think you're a joke.'

And that was when Arthur had placed one hand against the Forger's cheek, gently made him look at him, and then proceeded to give him a drunken kiss that was offered with sober intentions.

That one kiss and changed everything- it was the kiss that said 'Yes' to what Eames was afraid of asking and told him that it was alright to be afraid. Plenty of people were afraid to jump when the consequences reared their ugly heads.

When Arthur had pulled away, he was giving him a nice and honest smile. 'I'm sick of being so damned stubborn- I'm willing to say it if _you_ are Eames. I know that jumping can be scary, but if we do it together we wouldn't be doing it alone.'

That lead to hesitant 'I love you's being exchanged, and Eames being dragged up to Arthur's room for the night, the night being spent enjoying new experiences before sleep took them, and then waking up in the morning to find that it hadn't been a dream.

"Eames?"

Arthur's voice made the Forger come back to reality and stop going over the events of the night before. From the other man's expression, he had a good idea of what Eames had been thinking about, and wore a smile that was a match for Eames own.

The waitress was back and she had their breakfasts ready, offering to give refills for beverages before she slipped away to help other customers. When they said no, she disappeared.

Eames looked at his plate and couldn't help but think that it had been a good idea- the strawberries looked nice and fresh, a brilliant red color, the pancakes appeared light and fluffy, and the whipped cream wasn't over done.

Arthur seemed to be of the same opinion as he carefully took the container of syrup and poured the thinnest trickle of maple syrup over the confection.

He could understand why the Point Man would seek to reward himself as he looked back on the events of the night. He had done something that scared him, made him worry. Arthur had been just as afraid of rejection as Eames had been, but, they were now on the same page.

They had survived the jump and landed with both feet on the ground, unharmed and together.

While it had been common knowledge that they had strong emotions for one another, it was now undeniable that those feelings were of the romantic kind. And even then, it appeared that they were going to be able to last longer than breakfast, despite the initial awkwardness of the meal.

"Nice choice, love." Eames said as Arthur cut into his pancakes with his fork, "When you come over to my place, I'll make you whatever you want breakfast in the morning."

For a moment, Arthur raised his eyebrows at him, and then, he ever so slightly flushed in pleasure at the mention of another night together in the future.

The Point Man nodded his agreement, actually looking a little bit excited. "That would be great Eames. I can't wait."

* * *

_V is for Void_

Eames just couldn't bring himself to get out of bed.

He couldn't go outside; his food was delivered, all his bills paid online, and he ignored the texts, emails, and phone messages left by the people who were so concerned about his behavior.

But they couldn't understand the void in Eames' chest now that Arthur was gone.

One day here, the next just _gone_.

Eames looked at the ceiling above his bed and was always caught between craving sleep and wishing for insomnia to strike and keep him awake for hours.

His troubles always grew worse when he slept- it seemed that despite his work with the PASIV his natural dreaming had crept back into play- sometimes he could remember what he dreamt of as nothing more than lights and sounds, no real plot, and nothing that could distract him from his dreary reality.

Eames heard a noise, a soft footstep in the hall followed by the door to his bedroom swinging open.

While he would have gone into high alert at the noises of someone entering his bedroom, once he saw who it was, his head fell back onto his pillow with a loud thump.

"You're not real," he said, squeezing his eyes shut firmly. "I have to be dreaming again. You're not real because you're _dead_."

The unwelcome guest sighed, frustrated and walked purposefully into the room, not caring that he wasn't welcome.

"Eames, you have to stop this. You're wasting away down here. I'm not dead! Can't you just look at me?"

The Forger had never been able to deny him anything. All Arthur ever had to do was ask…

Eames opened his eyes and was confronted with the sight of his Arthur- dressed in one of his pressed suits that cost too much, frowning at him in concern, his brown eyes looking worried and so full of love that-

Eames closed his eyes and turned away from the projection of the man that he had lost and was now haunting him in his dreams.

"I'm not going to be like bloody Cobb, you hear me? I won't have you tearing me apart from inside my own _mind_. I can't let you go, I've tried but every time you come here you just-" Eames had to bite down hard on his lower lip until he tasted blood, not wanting to verbalize what this damned projected asked of him, or told him every single time he appeared.

He wouldn't do it. He couldn't just kill himself. The real Arthur would never forgive him for being so weak.

This projection must have been crafted with love and an attention to detail because this projection was a flawless copy of the man that Eames had loved and lost and was still mourning.

"You aren't weak, Eames! You never were! Please listen to me, you have to kill yourself and comeback with me. Time is running out."

The Forger tried to stop his laughter at the comment, unable to stop himself from turning back to speak to the man's face.

"Are you going to try and tell me that I'm in Limbo again, darling? Really? I know what hell feels like- I never want to leave this room again. I don't want to see the evidence that you aren't out there anymore, because at least if I'm in here I can have a little bit more control over it."

The projection of Arthur glared at him, seeming to work out his arguments in his own head before voicing them- so like the real Arthur.

"Eames, tell me. How did you get here? What's the last thing you remember from the job we last did?"

Eames stared at the man and said slowly, enunciating each word.

"You. Died. You left me alone! Why do you keep making me say it?!"

"Eames, just check your damned totem and you'll know that you aren't in reality anymore!"

The Forger forced himself out of bed and laughed again. "But, I know I'm dreaming right now, darling. You're here. You're dead. You don't appear when I'm slogging my way through breakfast and deleting all the calls and texts I get from our old friends- no you show up when I'm in bed, I even _dream_ that you come to me when I'm in bed!"

Arthur pulled his gun from its secure place and glowered at Eames.

"I don't want to shoot you Eames. I don't! It would be so much easier if you didn't persist believing this lie- yes, you saw me get shot but you managed to fall down in Limbo on our last job together. I'm not dead in reality but _you_ are in a coma! If you don't come back with me right now, you will really die."

Eames sat on the corner of his bed and looked at Arthur fondly.

"You know, it's just amazing. You, you're threatening to kill me right now, and all I can think about is how much I miss talking to you like this. Love, it's been so hard without you…"

Something softened in Arthur's face. "It's the same with me, Eames, honestly. We've all been so worried. I promised that I would bring you back but, I swear, if you don't I'm just going to stay down here with you."

Eames flinched at those words. He didn't want even a projection of Arthur to talk about remaining in a dream state with him forever, being trapped in Limbo…

He didn't like the sound of that idea. Yes, he had seen Arthur get shot just before _he_ had also taken a hit. The difference was that when Eames had woken up, he was stuck in a hospital alive, while Arthur was dead.

It had been the most terrible experience of his life. So, terrible that he never wanted to leave the house or get out of bed, or do the things that would remind him of his unhappiness. He had never wanted to wake up again…

There was a pause, a shift, and suddenly, Eames snapped his eyes open.

For a moment he held a hand to the side of his head, feeling the beginnings of a headache take him, just the same every time he awoke from a confusing dream or the odd moments where he believed himself to be haunted by the man.

There was a brief moment when he wanted to laugh mockingly as he thought about his latest projection's insistence.

"Stuck in Limbo," Eames said to himself as he forced himself out of bed and began to shuffle dispiritedly out of his bedroom and into the kitchen, where he saw Arthur was seated at the kitchen table.

The Point Man's eyes very nearly drilled holes into him as Eames froze in the doorway, leaning against the fridge.

"But, but I thought I was awake!" Eames exclaimed.

"Use your head, Eames! You have been giving yourself the illusion of dreams-" Arthur smacked himself on the chest as if to demonstrate how solid and real he was. "I am real. We are both trapped in Limbo and if you don't stop believing this fantasy of me being _dead_, I'll drag you back up to reality kicking and screaming if I have to."

He shook his head, looking extremely sad and depressed.

"Maybe this is your way of really explaining your feelings to me," Arthur said shortly. "Sure, you like to flirt and ruffle my feathers. You make me feel happy for no other reason than because you happened to _smile_ at me. It's not fair to have a one sided relationship in reality, but it's even worse when in dreams you'd rather think I'm dead."

Eames gaped with his mouth open at Arthur's words.

"You always talk about this _void_ you feel now that I'm dead in your reality, but when are you going to consider mine? Up in my reality, you are hooked up to a PASIV, in a hospital, dreaming away your life. Do you think I like sitting in the chair next to yours and hearing the doctors all talk about how long you'll be stuck in your coma? Talking about how long it will take for your heart to stop beating, till your other organs fail!"

Arthur brushed angry tears away from his face, pushing himself out of the chair at the kitchen table and walking to him, not stopping until he was right in front of Eames who was still clothed in his bathrobe and lazy pajamas.

"You just don't understand the void you're leaving in _my_ life! I never even got to say that I loved you- and what does it matter if I say it here? You don't even believe I'm real!"

Eames tried to take a deep breath but it felt like he was suffocating. He needed air, he needed- he needed to breathe!

Suddenly, the small window that was in his kitchen, just over the sink began to expand, getting bigger and bigger, the frame expanding so much that the cabinetry that was around it began to buckle and warp.

The window flung itself open and Eames watched in horror.

He looked to Arthur who was still trying to wipe tears from his face, squeezing his red die in his hand hard enough to make his knuckles go white from the strain.

His totem. Eames thought about his own totem for a second. He carried it with him now in the pocket of his bathrobe. Eames reached for it now- hoping for the comfort that Arthur seemed to be trying to gain from his own.

What if Arthur was telling the truth? What if he really happened to be trapped inside a dream? Or worse, was trapped in Limbo?

He never saw the people that delivered his food. He never went outside anymore. He had no real contact with the people he knew…

Eames fingered his totem and tested the weight- his eyes widening as he locked eyes with Arthur.

"Oh," Eames said in a broken whisper, leaving the totem in his pocket, as he instead chose to cup Arthur's face in his hands. "Oh, darling! I- I'm so sorry!"

It wasn't long before Eames was fighting back his own tears- tears of anger at his own blindness, tears of sadness that he had been willing to be trapped here until he died in reality and tears of absurd happiness that it was Arthur who had tried to rescue him. His Arthur!

When he moved to kiss the man, it was a heady mix of love and anger and regret- that he had wasted so much of his time, that Arthur believed that he would _ever_ prefer him to be dead, and that they were finally going to go home together.

"I understand now, Arthur! I do. I'm dreaming. You are alive! You are alive, damn it!" Eames said as he pulled away, still cupping the man's tear stained face in his hands, not wanting to lose any amount of physical contact with the Point Man.

Arthur smiled at him and handed over his gun.

When Eames took it, he steadied his hand, took a deep breath with the gun pressed so gently against the skin just underneath his chin, squeezed the trigger and then-

Eames opened his eyes in a sterile white room surrounded by angels- wait, no, they were nurses and doctors all in white coats that in his weak newly awake vision appeared to be like wings!

He felt a hand in his own and looked over to find a disheveled Arthur sitting in a chair at his bedside, smiling softly and waiting for the tubes that had been forced down the Forger's throat to help him breathe were removed.

"Darling," Eames said in a rough voice. "Thank you, love."

Arthur ran a hand through his hair which was messy and without any gel. It was then that Eames noticed that the suit Arthur was wearing appeared to be several days old if one was to look at how wrinkled it was.

There were fewer nurses around, the hospital workers and doctors seeming to understand that the two men needed at least a moment of privacy after their patient's vitals had been checked.

The Point Man noticed the attention Eames was paying to his not so very fresh clothing and mussed up hair, but didn't look embarrassed.

"I don't care how I look right now, Eames. My world is now whole again- there isn't a void."

Eames was thankful that during his coma he had been hydrated with an IV of saline, because, if there was ever a moment he wanted to share his tears with anyone, it was right now.

The Forger let them soak into Arthur's wrinkled coat, as they held each other in the hospital room safely in reality- together.

* * *

_W is for Warm_

Eames didn't think that Arthur would have been so good in a snowball fight.

He wasn't sure _why_ he thought so, it just had been this little voice in the back of his head that said that Arthur would have been really easy to beat in a snowball fight and that it would give him extra excuse to cuddle up to him in order to share warmth and stuff…

On vacation in winter, renting a lovely little cottage with a fireplace that even was close by a lake the locals used for skating during this season. When they had been walking in their heavy coats, hats, and gloves intent on doing a little skating, Eames had gotten his little idea about pelting Arthur with snow and then, promptly gotten murdered in a snowball fight with the Point Man.

After the first snowball from Arthur smacked the Forger squarely in the face, he had gotten this sinking feeling.

There was nothing like being pinned to the ground by the slighter man who grinned with flushed cheeks and lips rosy from the cold, a snowball in each hand, ready to demolish him.

"And you were so sweet to give me a head start, Eames. But, I grew up in New York where a snowball fight is life or death- I learned to be the most brutal kid on in a snowball fight…" Arthur smiled at the memory and shook his head.

Eames, let go of a sigh of relief as Arthur dropped his two handfuls of snow, climbed off of the Forger, and then offered his hands to help the man up off the cold snow covered ground.

When Arthur noticed how much Eames was shivering, the Point Man wouldn't take no for an answer and dragged him back to the cottage.

"B-but, I th-thought that you wanted t-to go skating?" Eames said as he fought the way his teeth chattered because of the cold. Secretly he was pleased that Arthur wanted out of the snow too.

"Really? You happen to be an ice cube, Eames! I want to warm you up back at our place- if you get sick the vacation will be spent inside the cottage and I'll be force feeding you soup and hot tea."

Eames smiled at the thought, but then, noticed how his lips were chapping, and tried to not smile so widely because it hurt.

He loved the idea of Arthur taking care of him- it was so rare and special. Eames was dreaming about what other ways the Point Man could use to warm him up that didn't involve soup or hot beverages.

Eames had gotten as far as thinking about a nice hot shower, or curling up under the nice comfortable blankets in bed, when he was shocked out of his day dreams by a the sensation of cold on his back- Arthur, had taken the time to shove a handful of snow down the back of Eames' coat and rub it in with one hand.

When Eames yelped in surprise at the sensation of cold strong enough to make his bones ache and send shivers up and down his spine, he sent a betrayed look in Arthur's direction.

The Point Man had thought to move himself a few feet away from the freezing Forger while he had been so distracted by the surprise attack, grinning and appearing unrepentant.

"You weren't listening to a thing I was saying! I had to get your attention somehow, Eames!"

Eames growled and had no issue with tackling the Point Man- certain that the man was pleased as he had every single ounce of Eames' attention now.

He could get warm later.

* * *

_X is for X (the unknown quantity)_

Eames had this incurable desire to learn about the people he was to work with. For the most part, the rest of the team was pretty easy to read: Dominic Cobb the Extractor, was devoted to his wife. Mallorie Cobb the Architect, was equally devoted to her husband. And then, there was Arthur (no last name offered)the Point Man, who was X in this equation. The unknown quantity.

While the married couple was interesting in their own ways it was Arthur that drew most of Eames' attention.

Arthur, who revealed little.

Arthur, who worked so hard to protect the team from downfall and twists in the plans, but didn't show his emotions readily if at all.

When Eames began to follow the Point Man around, he didn't actively call it stalking. He didn't stalk anyone. He simply followed them around until he found out what he wanted about them- and with Arthur, Eames wanted to know _everything_.

Through this 'not stalking', Eames had learned that Arthur favored Starbucks for coffee, but would go to small coffee shops when there wasn't one available. And when he did go to these often times family run, or small business coffee houses, the man would get strong espresso and something like a pastry or a bagel to go with it.

After this little experience, Arthur would pick up a newspaper and read it while drinking his coffee.

When Arthur ducked into a public restroom, Eames had followed him in without another thought- what information could possibly be revealed by going in, he thought?

Would Arthur be the type to bring his own toilet paper or use his own brand of hand soap at the sinks? At the urinal, was he a one-shake or two-shake kind of guy?

Eames was still smiling at the ridiculous thought when Arthur suddenly appeared in front of him with a face like thunder, shoving him against the wall next to the hand drier.

"I would like to know why you are following me, Mr. Eames."

Before Eames could open his mouth, Arthur beat him to it.

"Wait, that's right!" The Point Man exclaimed with false astonishment. "You have this terrible little problem trying to immerse yourself in the personalities of the people around you! I'm letting you know now that I don't appreciate your attentions. If you get any more persistent after this kind tip, I'm going to shoot you in the knee caps. I don't care what Mal and Dom say!"

Arthur, for the love of god, looked his age when he uttered that last sentence. So young, and rebellious, and dear god did Eames want more.

He knew that the man wasn't so _young_, but there was something about the way that Arthur had said it that got Eames interested.

The Point Man appeared to notice the way that Eames hadn't taken his eyes off of him, or apologized, or even ran away in shame from being caught in the act.

"I would so love to learn every little thing about you, darling." Eames said with a large smile. "Not even for Forging really, just because you are so damned different! Like x- the unknown quantity!"

Arthur's eyes narrowed and he swept out of the bathroom, ready to ignore the Forger.

And Eames knew that he would make that single act one of the most difficult things for Arthur to accomplish. If it was the last thing he ever did, Eames was going to learn every little mystery that belonged to Arthur and what shaped him into the man he was today!

* * *

_Y is for Yes_

Eames liked to send random text messages to Arthur.

_Are you trying to bring back bracers?_

_If we were working an extraction and the dreamer's projections were taking too much notice, would you try and kiss _me_?_

_What do you like better? Chocolate or Peanut butter?_

And so on and so on.

But, tonight seemed different. When he reached for his phone sitting on his nightstand, he wasn't going to text Arthur because he was bored. Or too hot. Or couldn't sleep.

Well, sure, he couldn't sleep right now, but that was because he really had a question that needed an answer- and oh, how he really truly hoped that the answer was going to be _yes_.

Sweat had made his shirt stick to his chest so he had long since gotten rid of it. The oscillating fan sent cooler air across his skin, but still, he felt so warm it was uncomfortable.

He began working on a text message to Arthur, pausing several times as he thought of the best way to phrase what he wanted.

Eames was hoping that he wouldn't be brushed off or ignored, and despite that dark worry that it would occur, Eames couldn't help but type and send the message anyway.

Fortune favors the bold.

_Arthur, I'm not playing a joke or making fun of you. Could you please come over and spend the night with me?_

Eames hadn't been able to take his mind off of the Point Man. His waking thoughts were centered on the man and his sleep was filled with dreams of the man. It was a heck of a way to live, and he didn't think that it was such a bad thing to at least ask if Arthur was interested.

If he asked, he would at least _know._ And after a moment, he received the answer that made him smile widely at his bedroom ceiling.

His cell phone screen displayed the Point Man's answer.

_Yes._

No mention of the time he would appear. No other words or sentiments.

But the presence of the single affirmative word spoke volumes to Eames who was wondering if he would look too desperate if he happened to be waiting at the door for Arthur's knock.

And then, he shook his head and crawled out of bed.

He didn't care if he looked desperate because Arthur had finally said _yes_ to him and it gave him all the courage he required.

* * *

_Z is for Zeal_

"Did you honestly just say 'zeal'?"

If Eames counted himself as smart, he would really stop picking apart Arthur's sentences and mocking his word choices.

Arthur didn't even bother with eye contact as he matched Eames, tit for tat.

"Did you honestly dress yourself in the dark this fine morning, Mr. Eames?"

Eames looked at his shirt and then his slacks and frowned.

Since when did paisley and stripes not work?

As if Arthur could read minds, he called out an answer to that unspoken question.

"Never. It's a lot like plaid and stripes. And if you really need another example of the word 'zeal' in a sentence, I'll personalize it so you understand it better."

Arthur cleared his throat and said, "If it weren't for your poor choices in what you find acceptable to wear, I'd find your zeal endearing."

When Arthur then began to ignore him in favor for work, Eames turned to look at Ariadne, Dom, and Yusuf, who was delivering chemicals in person in order to visit.

They shared a look with Eames and stared at Arthur as one.

"Let this day be known forever in history, as the day that Arthur gave me a back handed compliment, which is the best compliment I have received from him period!"

Arthur grumbled to himself as there was a short round of applause.

The End

A.N- Hope you liked it, because I know that I enjoyed writing it!

- slash mania


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